The Wanderer

The wanderer:

His wide brimmed hat cast a slanted shadow across his face, covering his eyes and reaching down to the corner of his lips. The weathered fabric of his ancient garments clung to him with a light dampness from the now receding early morning rain. As the sky cleared, the brilliant colors of the arching rainbow glistened overhead. In matter of fact, all the world seemed more vibrant now that the grey clouds had rolled over: The fields were greener, the painted houses, their reds and yellows, cleaner, and the sky was so very blue, a good healthy blue. A man’s spirit might be strengthened to see such a blue sky. Through the unpaved main road, and its ankle deep mud, the wanderer traveled. Somehow it was the children who remembered him, though they had never known him, and they were at him in a moment, playfully surrounding him, tugging at his robes, and shouting his name.


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